Two days later, I’m back in Loguetown, sitting in Wendel’s tavern. It’s quieter than usual—no crowd, just at my usual corner booth, my long trench coat draped over the chair beside . I’m cutting into a plate of food with my knife and fork, savoring each bite with a touch of class.
Wendel steps out from the back, pouring a glass of fine wine into the empty goblet by my side.
Bang!
The tavern’s double doors get kicked open. Wendel glances over, and I don’t need to look to know who it is—Iron Hand Barlow, captain of the Iron Hand Pirates, the guy who’s been sending goons here for updates. Tall and lanky, he struts in with two beefy lackeys, acting like he owns the place.
“Well, well, the tavern’s awfully quiet today,” Barlow says, scanning the empty room with only and Wendel.
I flash a smile. “Knew you were coming, Barlow, so I had Wendel clear the place out. Big business deserves privacy, right?”
“Hahaha, always thinking ahead, Morgan!” Barlow laughs, plopping down across from . Without asking, he grabs the wine Wendel just poured for and downs it in one gulp. “Damn good stuff! You know how to live, Mr. Morgan. Oh, and Wendel, put his al on my tab!”
“No need for that, Barlow,” I say, shaking my head. I set down my knife and fork, wipe my mouth with a napkin, and lean forward. “Let’s cut to the chase. I’m getting impatient.”
“Fair enough!” Barlow grins, snapping his fingers at his goons.
The two lackeys step forward, heaving two large suitcases onto the table. They pop them open, revealing stacks of Berries packed to the brim.
“One hundred twenty million, exactly,” Barlow says. “Wanna count it, Morgan?”
“No need,” I say, waving a hand. I brush my fingers over the cash, and the Hunter’s Shop interface in my mind confirms it—exactly one hundred twenty million Berries. Barlow’s not trying to short .
“Take it, Wendel,” I say.
Wendel nods, reaching for the suitcases.
But just then, Barlow’s goons slam the lids shut, glaring at Wendel and like we’re about to pull sothing.
“Hold on,” Barlow says, his smile turning sharp. “Where’s my item, Morgan?” His eyes bore into , like he’s ready to tear apart if I co up empty.
“Oh, my bad, almost forgot,” I say, tapping my forehead with a grin. I pull a small, unassuming box from beside my chair and set it on the table. I flip it open, revealing a banana-shaped fruit covered in swirling patterns.
Barlow’s eyes light up. “You didn’t let down, Morgan. Pleasure doing business!” He reaches eagerly for the Devil Fruit box.
Just as his fingers graze it, I snap the lid shut. “Pleasure? I’m not so sure about that, Barlow.”
“What’s that supposed to an?” His face darkens, hand frozen mid-air.
“You know exactly what I an,” I say, my voice turning cold. “You knew Badsey was backed by the Krieg Pirates and didn’t tell . Tried to play for a fool. I don’t appreciate that. So, sorry, Barlow—this Devil Fruit’s not yours.”
Crack! A flash of nace crosses Barlow’s eyes. He stands, slamming his iron-gloved hand onto the table, splintering the wood. “If I want it, I’ll take it.”
“It’s right here,” I say, shrugging. “Try .”
“Looking to die?!” Barlow roars, vaulting over the table. His iron fist swings straight for my head.
I sidestep, and his punch obliterates the chair I was sitting in, sending splinters flying.
Crash!
Not missing a beat, Barlow swings again, aiming for my face.
I bend my knees slightly, and in a blink, I activate Shave from the Six Powers. One mont I’m inches from his fist; the next, I’m behind him, snatching the dinner knife from the table.
“He’s gone!” Barlow’s eyes widen, realizing my speed too late. As a seasoned captain, he’s sharp in a fight, spinning around to face .
Sure enough, I’m right there. Barlow raises his iron hand to block, stepping back to gain distance.
But before he can move, I flicker forward, closing the gap in an instant. He doesn’t even see my path. The dinner knife spins between my fingers like a butterfly, then I grip it and drive it into his throat.
Thud!
Clang! Barlow’s lanky fra collapses onto the tavern floor. He twitches twice, then goes still. Blood pools from his mouth and neck, staining the wood.
“Tch, told you to try, and you actually did,” I say, shaking my head. I grab a napkin, wipe the blood off my hand, and slip my trench coat back on.
Then I rember sothing. From my coat’s inner pocket, I pull out the crumpled wanted poster Wendel gave the day Barlow hired . I unfold it and toss it onto Barlow’s body, his eyes still open in shock.
The poster shows none other than Iron Hand Barlow, captain of the Iron Hand Pirates, with a bounty of ** Berries.
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